


If you’re lonely, wake me, or What Happens When You Have a Partner Who Needs to Sleep But You Never Do

by Euny_Sloane



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Late Night Conversations, M/M, No Angst, No Sex, No Smut, Post-Canon, Talking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, sleepy snek, wake me if you're lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21543184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euny_Sloane/pseuds/Euny_Sloane
Summary: Crowley is very tired and Aziraphale never sleeps and they're both idiots who love each other and haven't left each other's side since they toasted at the Ritz.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 129





	If you’re lonely, wake me, or What Happens When You Have a Partner Who Needs to Sleep But You Never Do

**Author's Note:**

> It's possible that I've been listening to Wake Me by the Bleachers a bit too many times in the last week and I won't be held responsible for the consequences. Among other things, I take no responsibility for this utter fluff, relieved only by ambiguous tension and relentless banter. 
> 
> It neither includes sexytimes, nor precludes the possibility of sexytimes later (though I probably won't write them).
> 
> "If you're lonely wake me" is a line from the Bleachers song Wake Me, and that is not my own any more than the characters represented here are my own.

It had been 8 days, 17 hours and thirty-two minutes since they had regained their usual forms after the world didn’t end and Aziraphale has noticed that Crowley is making distinctly less sense than usual. 

“See, it’s the thing, you know? The thinging..inging.. inggie.”  
“Dear boy, I think you might need to sober up a bit if we’re going to continue conversing.”  
“M’sober alrrready,” slurred the demon sprawled out over an unneccessarily broad section of the sofa.  
Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”  
“Yesssss really,” Crowley said, then stared, bewilderedly down at his hands, still gesturing in emphasis. Apparently confused about how they’d arrived there, he placed them carefully down on his knees, patting a few times.  
Aziraphale observed the entire demonstration of Crowley’s state with an expression stuck between wonder and amusement, one eye twitching with the effort not to laugh.  
Crowley, perhaps in response to Aziraphale’s uncharacteristic silence, looked up and grumbled “Don’laugh. Sssss’not funny.”  
“I’m not laughing.”  
“You want to. I know that face.”  
With a softness formerly restricted to the hours after even Soho had gone to sleep and on only the most inebriated occasions, Aziraphale said “I know you do.”  
Crowley’s eyes drifted, unfocused, towards an angel tucked into the remaining quarter of the sofa not concealed by his own sprawl of limbs - at the shining pocket watch, half-open line of threadbare waistcoat buttonholes, up to a necktie knot coming loose. His pupils slowly settled, focusing on warm blue eyes, then the nearby muscle twitch, which declared that his assumption had been correct. “I meant that I know when you’re trying not to laugh - you do it every time the cussstomers try to cite your opening hours to you.”  
“I knew what you meant,” said Aziraphale, allowing himself to break into a chuckle. “Are you quite sure you’re sober?”  
“That’s what I ssaid.”  
“No need to snap at me.”  
“M’not.”  
“You’re not what?”  
“Ssssnapping.”  
“Mmm.” mused Aziraphale. “Well, you’re certainly not sounding sober.” He raked his eyes over Crowley’s face and the black-clad spine improbably molded to the shape of the curved cushioning and his eyes widened in worry. “Are you alright? Could it be something that Heaven di..”  
“I’m fine,” articulated Crowley, adding under his breath “jussleeepy.”  
“Pardon me, love?”  
“Ngk. Don’do that angel.”  
“Apologies. What did you say?” he asked, and someone who didn’t know him well would have seen a jolly, twinkling face and missed the snark. It was not lost on Crowley, though, who rolled his eyes and sighed.  
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”  
Aziraphale just looked down his nose at his friend, eyes glittering with playful animosity.  
“Oh, bollocks. I’m tired.”  
“Demons get… tired?”  
“Go.. who knows?”  
“But you do? How did I never know this?”  
Crowley opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, closed it, thinking, before declaring “I suppose it’s the time.”  
“The time?” asked Aziraphale, increasingly confused.  
With a broad hand gesture, encompassing the piles of books, a gramophone that surely shouldn’t still be operational, and several neatly lined up empty wine bottles, he observed “All the time we’ve been, y’know, here.”  
“Here…” said Aziraphale, before abruptly shifting to stand up. “Oh dear, we never do spend so much time together continuously - how discourteous of me. Have I been keeping you? What about your greenhouse, your garden… please don’t stay longer on my account. Can you get home safely? I suppose I could miracle you home, but that might not be the best idea, all things consid..”  
“Asssiraphale! Ssstop. You’re not keeping me here against my will. M’only tired, not kidnapped, and the plants know better than to wilt,” sneered Crowley half-heartedly, before softening, “I’ve wanted to stay. Still want to.”  
“...oh. OH. Well, ah, you could, mm, you could, you know.”  
“I could what?”  
“Stay. You could, mmm... You could stay?”  
“I could?” asked Crowley, wonder creeping into his tone.  
“Yes, yes. Of course you could. You know I lo-like having you here.”  
Making an effort to seem awake and reasonable, Crowley said “All I need is a nap, honestly. Just a few winks - I guess I’ve gotten used to it, and snakes aren’t… we don’t… stay awake for days on end, you know.”  
“You might just kip on the couch here,” Aziraphale offered. “Or there’s the bed,” he said, though after a dry swallow observed “though there are rather a lot of books and dust up there - I never use it.”  
“I know. Ssso what will you do if I sleep here? Just… wait?” he asked, softly scornful.  
“I have things to read. I could wait for you.”  
“You could wait… for me? Just wait?”  
“To wake up? Of course. I have things to read.”  
“You’re sure I ssshouldn’t go?”  
“I’m sure, darling.”  
“Angel, I really can go home.”  
“Fine,” clipped Aziraphale.  
Crowley huffed back, attempted to collect himself into an upright format and collapsed back into a new constellation of limbs, blinking sleepily.  
“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale, rising to his feet. “Let me just get you a blanket and a pillow.”  
“I don’t need anything, really - I’m…”  
“...fine, I know. Just let me. And really, it’s not an imposition. I don’t exactly want you to, ah, leave, after all that we’ve been through of late, ah, just let me go get that blanket.”

When he returned a couple of minutes later, Crowley had extended the full length of the couch, one ankle dripping off the edge. His eyes barely flicked open as Aziraphale tucked a much-mended wool blanket over him, fringe tucked neatly under Crowley’s feet. Crowley sat up just enough for a tapestry pillow to be nestled behind his head and Aziraphale turned to walk away, but stopped as he felt fingers brush his wrist.  
“Hey.”  
Aziraphale stared at where his friend’s hand had loose hold of his cuff. “Ah. Yes?” he asked, and the hand dropped precipitously away, mirrored by a sudden lurch of his own insides.  
“If you’re, ah… if you’re… if you…”  
Aziraphale stared, lips slightly parted in the wondering dismay usually reserved for cases full of immaculately prepared pastries. “If I’m what?”  
“Lonely. Agh. If you’re… you know, bored, or or lonely.”  
“If I’m… lonely”  
“Yes,” said Crowley, taking a deep breath before plunging forward “if you’re lonely, wake me.”  
“Oh.”  
Crowley rolled his eyes and settled in, tucking his hand back under the blanket. “S’not a big deal. Just. It’s been a long time since we could, you know. Just stay.”  
Finally understanding, Aziraphale said “Awfully long time. Not since we were taking care of the boy.”  
“Exactly.”  
Leaning forward ever so slowly, Aziraphale bent down to smooth the blanket neatly over Crowley’s side, then straightened and stepped back.  
Crowley blinked rapidly, and if anyone had asked, he would have cited the brightness of the lights, the lateness of the hour, the fatigue of his corporation, anything but the traitorous clenching of his heart. “I mean it. If you get… you can, you… I’ll be here.”  
“I know.”  
“Well.”  
“You better rest.”  
“Yes.”  
“Would you…”  
“Yes?” In spite of himself, Crowley’s eyes were drifting shut.  
“Would you like me to read to you?”  
“S’all right.”  
“Really, I don’t mind. I could read anything, well, anything I have here. Still probably best to avoid attracting, ah, attention,” he said, with an abbreviated glance above. “And I’d rather not go to a library…”  
Crowley, eyes still closed, murmured “this is what e-readers are for, angel.”  
“Oh hush.”  
Aziraphale somehow stopped staring down at the pile of angles under his throw blanket long enough to rummage around in his shelves for a few minutes, returning to his favorite reading chair. Once settled, he opened a red leather bound book to the first page and looked over at his dearest friend, chest rising and falling on the couch. He whispered to himself “if you’re lonely,” and released a shuddering breath. After a moment, he began to read. “One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had nothing to do with it:—it was the black kitten’s fault entirely. For the white kitten had been having its face washed by the old cat for the last quarter of an hour…”


End file.
